‘Don’t you ever knock,’ I complain, looking down at the annotation I’m supposed to initial for at least the third time.
‘The dragon said I could come in.’
‘You’re talking shit again.’
‘She did, honestly. She said, Everett, my boy, go right on in because God knows when you’ll see him next.’ In the periphery of my vision, he folds his arms across his chest, leaning his thigh against the table at the centre of the room. ‘You missed a meeting last Friday, I hear.’
‘Madame Bisset—’
‘Paulette, to you.’
‘Madame Bisset would no more tell you I missed a meeting than she would flash you her underwear.’
‘I think I just vomited in my mouth,’ he says with a grimace. ‘Never, ever say the word underwear in relation to your assistant in my hearing again. They’re probably like . . . huge, grey tents.’
‘The woman is the size of a sparrow.’
‘With the viciousness of a pterodactyl, but she’s old.’
‘And?’
‘It stands to reason she wears ugly underwear.’
‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.’
‘You started it. You and your malingering ways.’
‘Even the chairman of the board is entitled to take a few hours off.’
‘Yeah, but you’re not by yourself, are you? You can’t entertain yourself for that length of time.’ No need to ask what he means by that as he unfolds his left hand, beginning to shake his curled fist in the air.
‘Don’t confuse my free time with yours,’ I answer witheringly.
‘They seek him here. They seek him there. Those Frenchies seek him every-fucking-where.’
‘You’re not French.’
‘I don’t go looking for you. I know where you are when you’re not with me. If they’d picked up the phone to me, I would’ve told them.’
‘Which is where?’
‘With your latest squeeze.’
‘Jealous, Rhett?’
He chuckles unpleasantly. ‘Not a fucking bit. You’re tying yourself up in knots so tight it’s only a matter of time before you come a cropper. Or as my delightful niece would say, before you get effed in the a.’
‘You don’t have family, do you? I thought you were made in a lab somewhere.’
‘No, I think you’re confused. What I said was that my mother is a bitch, that she’s more pitbull than Lab.’
‘I sometimes wonder why I keep you around,’ I find myself grumbling.
‘Maybe because I can kill a man with one hand without spilling my pint. Or maybe because of my sunny temperament and my charming personality.’
‘You wouldn’t know charming if it bit you on the head.’
‘Speaking of heads, your problem is that your little head has been getting all the action, but it’s your big head that’s suffering. You know there’s such a thing as thinking too much, right?’
‘An affliction you don’t suffer from yourself.’
‘What’s to think about? The way I look at it, you’ve made your bed, you’ve just got to lie in it now. Or shag in it, as the case may be. Make the most of it, mate, because it’s only a matter of time before she finds out the many ways you’re a total bastard.’
‘Don’t let me stop you,’ I drawl, sitting back in my chair. ‘Please, educate me on my failures.’
Why indulge him? Because introspection is something I’d like to be distracted from. Because he’s right, though he probably doesn’t realise quite how right he is. But the more time I spend with Rose, the less I want to give her up. And the less I want to give her up, the more I complicate things. I’m so fucking aware that I could lose her the minute I tell her the truth. Would she do something rash for revenge when she knows the whole sordid story, like run out and marry the first man she meets to get her hands on her shares so she can be rid of me?
‘Nah. What’s the point? You know you’re fucked.’
With a final withering look in his direction, I return my attention to the paperwork in front of me. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll leave. I initial the page and flip to the next when the door to my suite of offices opens again.
‘Does no one in this building knock these days,’ I find myself roaring.
‘Hey, you called me, not the other way around.’ Rose stands on the other side of the office with an unfamiliar scowl painted across her face. One hand pressed to her cocked hip, and in the other, she holds a brown paper bag.
‘Rose, you’re early.’ I begin to stand as she walks a little farther into the room, dropping the paper bag to the boardroom table on the opposite end of where Rhett lounges.
‘Yeah, I know. I guess you can always call this brunch instead of lunch, but it’s the best I can manage.’
As I draw closer, the scent of hot grease seems to permeate.
‘What’s in the bag, Heidi?’ She presses her lips into a flat line at Rhett’s goading enquiry, an uncomplimentary look gliding his way.